Lake Chad residents caught between Boko Haram and rising waters

LeMonde

06-08-2025

René Magritte would likely have enjoyed painting this iron gate, which stands in the middle of the water, reminiscent of the half-open door to the ocean depicted in his painting La Victoire ("The Victory"). For Mahamat Mbomi, however, it is a defeat. This dreamlike landscape represents the annihilation of years of work and the loss of his savings. "The sorghum, the watermelon, the melon... Everything is lost," said the landowner. The enclosure and the gate were supposed to keep animals away from his crops. He never imagined the invader would be liquid.
"There hasn't been water here since Tombalbaye died!" he exclaimed, referring to Chad's first president, who passed away in 1975. For him and thousands of other farmers, the arrival of the water was anything but a blessing. Located on the edge of the Sahara, Lake Chad was long thought to be drying up. In reality, it has been refilling and expanding due to climate change, worsening food and security crisis on shores already battered for more than a decade by Boko Haram jihadists.
Garmadji Sangar, head of the studies division at the Lake Development Corporation (SODELAC, a public institution), sees this change each morning when he measures the water level at the Bol hydrological observation station, known to locals as a small beach for swimming and washing clothes. The flood gauge has become unusable since a careless hippopotamus sat on it. Unfazed, this day, Sangar set up his optical level amid a crowd of children competing in diving contests. He frowned, visibly concerned by what he saw through the viewfinder.
An 11-centimeter rise in one year
Inside the SODELAC offices, deserted corridors, broken cabinets and a lack of electricity serve as reminders that the institution has seen better days. Sangar made a quick calculation and searched his archives. The result was indisputable: The lake level has risen by 11 centimeters compared to last year.
"That's huge!" exclaimed Florence Sylvestre, a paleoclimatologist and research director at the French Research Institute for Development (IRD), seconded to the University of N'Djamena and a specialist on Lake Chad. "We haven't seen that since the 1960s." Back then, the lake covered an area of 25,000 km 2 before beginning to recede, a process accelerated by severe droughts. It ultimately lost 90% of its surface area by the 1990s. The international community grew alarmed at the possibility of its disappearance.
"That was a mistake, because the hydrological cycle then accelerated," said Sylvestre. The warming of the oceans has led to increased evaporation, resulting locally in heavier rainfall, and with dramatic consequences for farmers. "The rural system is being upended," confirmed Sangar. "Herders are losing their pastures, and their livestock leave the transhumance routes and trample the fields. The number of land disputes has exploded in recent years."
With a stern look topped by a red keffiyeh, Mahamat Alhadji Adam, armed with a lance engraved with arabesques, seemed to be preparing for war. "It's only to scare off the animals," he reassured, keeping a watchful eye on the land inherited from his great-great-grandparents – and on the few cattle nearby.
Researchers anticipate even more severe flooding, as the lake acts as a barometer for climate change. It collects rainfall from a watershed larger than France and Belgium combined. With no outlet and due to its shallow depth, the slightest variation in volume transforms this landscape that's impossible to map. Ever-shifting tongues of sand shape and destroy its islands. The lake could expand by another 30% by 2040. Farmers have been pushed back inland, forced to cut down the last trees in the area – paradoxically, the humidification of the Sahel is accelerating its desertification.
'The terrorists rule the water'
Amid a sandy landscape, the village of Kiskawa Dine appears like a field of ruins swept by a strong wind. On the ground, the charred remains of straw huts form black circles. "This was my home," said Mahamat Abakar Sidick, the former chief of this ghost village. "We lived peacefully, but as the water rose, Boko Haram's attacks by canoe increased in the region. So, one morning in December 2024, we decided to flee. That very evening, the jihadists took over our hamlet, then the army came and burned everything [to drive them out]. The Chadian soldiers control the land, but the terrorists rule the water."
Late in the morning, the sun glistened on the arm of the lake surrounding the village of Bibi Barkalia, about 100 kilometers south of Kiskawa Dine. A sense of serenity hung in the air, at odds with the security situation. Ever since the islands have become inaccessible due to insecurity, "the fishermen have stayed close to the villages, and the price of fish has increased fivefold," said Aristide Badoum, program manager for the NGO Concern. Fishers have been victims of both the insecurity caused by Boko Haram and global warming. In the distance, figures moved about in a canoe, forcefully casting large nets. Overhead, a flock of birds circled in hopes of getting their share.
Adam Tielou, head of the women fishmongers' association in the village, dumped a dozen wriggling tilapia into an aluminum basin, while her colleagues sharpened their knives for scaling. "Some to sell fresh, some to smoke!" one of them said proudly. Here, they rely on processing to compensate for the dwindling fish stocks. A bag of smoked fish, easy to store in a country where less than 1% of the rural population has access to electricity, can fetch up to €100.
"It's a booming business," said Badoum, who, after helping structure the cooperative, is now trying to get it to adopt new solar-powered electric dryers. The operation's success was visible on the faces of the women and in the sweetness of the tea offered to visitors.
Solar-powered irrigation
A few kilometers away, the chief of Mane village was absorbed in watching an okra shoot a few centimeters from the ground. A miracle on this sandy soil, as the rainy season had not yet begun. "For three years, floods have ravaged our crops along the shores. This is the first time anything has grown here!" he said.
The residents have been trained and equipped by the NGO Concern, which set up a solar-powered irrigation system so that the seeds would be more resilient. "This sun that burns our skin is finally good for something!" joked Badoum. "No more waiting for the rains, which have become too unpredictable."
On the return journey, he stopped the vehicle to show "the miracle of the lake." Between two arid, white plateaus ran a broad vein of emerald green. "This is one of the polders developed by the state," he explained, pointing to the idyllic strip of black, rich earth where hectares of corn were flourishing. "During the flood season, it's submerged by a system of sluices, which are closed before sowing. This gives an idea of the region's agricultural potential. The solutions to climate change already exist; all that's needed is a good development policy to expand them and eradicate hunger."
The humanitarian worker paused and allowed himself to dream of a lake restored to prosperity, where agriculture would once again be a more obvious path for young people than joining an armed group.